One night last week I had one of my seriously weird dreams. Sometimes I wonder if part of the trouble I have sleeping is because I’m worried my noodle is going to get bent by another one of these bizarre send-ups from someplace deep in my imagination.

And if I’m having this kind of dream now, imagine what I’m going to be like after I’ve been underwriting for awhile.

In my dream, I got up in the middle of the night to go to the bathroom and I noticed movement in the living room out of the corner of my eye. When I turned to look, Death was standing by the book shelf, looking at our collection of DVD’s….

Death looked very much like a Halloween costume, only, I must say, significantly more scary on account of a) He was at least 7 feet tall b)he was in my living room and c) I did not know that I was dreaming.

Death, in my dream, had some characteristics that distinguished him from some guy in a long black cape with a hood. Besides that he was at least 7 feet tall. He wasn’t all that thin. I mean, he wasn’t stocky either, but he had the build of somebody who could handle himself in a fight. His cloak was indeed the deepest black, but in the light coming from the aquarium I could see that it has a sort of iridescence to it, like metallic paint on a car, or like the bird’s feathers.

Around his waist he wore a rope, but tied to the end of it was a very finely made hourglass made of gold with silver inlays. There was a single pearl at the top and the bottom of the hourglass, and I could not see the means by which the hourglass was attached to the rope. Moreover, the glass was filled, not with sand, but with something I can only describe as particles of gemstones, the size of grains of sand, but each one sparkled and shone as if it were a world in itself. These did not flow through the hourglass, at least they didn’t as I looked, but rather floated as if suspended in liquid, or not subject to the laws of physics (which I supposed they were not) The hourglass was very interesting to look at, but I had the feeling that it was like looking at the sun – not such a good idea for a mortal.

As expected, he held a scythe in his left hand, and this was not ornate at all. It looked sturdy and practical, like something you could find in any garden shed, except larger. At his throat his cloak was held together by a clasp made out of silver, which formed the trunk, roots and branches of a tree without leaves. The branches were woven together in such a way that they became a kind of Celtic knot, and by this means the clasp closed.

His face, naturally, was obscured by his cowl, but his hands, while extremely thin and bony were human hands. So to speak.

“Oh!” I said, very surprised, and sort of confused, “Darn it, I thought I just had a sinus infection.”

Death turned and looked at me and tilted his head to one side. I have to say he gave the impression of looking a little surprised too. But he said, “Why are you so sure I’ve come for you.”

“Because the other times you’ve been near me I’ve been very, very cold, but I could never see you. Now I’m not cold at all, but I can see you clearly.”

“Oh, yes, I remember – when that little boy got hit by the bus, and with Ida, and Angela”

“Were you still there, in the room, with my grandmother? With Ida? I never knew for sure.”

“Actually, we had already gone, but I saw you reflected in the window as you ran in. But don’t worry, Ida never looked back. She was looking with great interest at what lay ahead of her. She was a very curious soul”

“Yes, that was her nature.” I agreed. I leaned against the door frame and was mildly surprised that it was solid under my weight. “Would you like to sit down? May I offer you something to drink? Or would that just be stupid?”

“No it isn’t stupid. It’s very kind of you. I don’t care for anything to drink, but it wouldn’t hurt to rest my feet a little.”

He turned and seated himself on the sofa, allowing the scythe to rest on his shoulder. As tall as he was, he looked a little uncomfortable, his bony knees sort of up to his chin. Nevertheless, he folded his hands across his knees and regarded me politely. I sat down in the wing chair.

Man this is really gonna upset The Hub. What bad luck to be a widower twice! He’s going to think God has it in for him. He’s never going to get married again, and who’s going to see that he doesn’t just eat cereal and hot dogs for the rest of his life? I should have bought more life insurance, then he could have hired a housekeeper. I wonder if I made my car payment? I hope he’ll be able to sell that thing for enough to pay it off….

“You know, most people would start to plead for their life right about now.” Death observed.

“Oh, I’m sorry! Is that the procedure? I had no idea, I hadn’t ever heard that. I just seem to be making everybody’s job more difficult this week – I guess you know I started a new job. But that’s not a very good reason for me to plead for my life. In fact, if you don’t mind, I’d rather not. That’s not really my style. Can we skip that part? Then what do we do? Are we supposed to dance?”

He chuckled a little and said, cryptically, “No. That’s more the style of mountain bikers”
(I think he said mountain bikers. Maybe he meant mountain climbers) “I was just curious about what you would say. I haven’t come for you at all. It’s just that since you have lightened my workload so considerably, I had extra time, and so I came by to see where you live, and what kind of books you read and such like. It’s enlightening.”

“It is? I’m so sorry, that part about me lightening your workload. I’m afraid I’m not understanding you.”

“It’s not a direct cause and effect of course, but certainly by now you must know, or at least have guessed that you are one of the 500, the people who balance the world.”

“I’m really sorry, but I don’t know what you mean”

I had the impression that he rolled his eyes. “What do they teach children these days?” He leaned forward, “Think of the world as a set of scales. One day, the scales will be in perfect balance and they will be still. On that day the world will end, and all will be as it should be. But, until that day, the world must be in motion, lest it come to rest prematurely, in an unbalanced state. In each generation, a certain number of people are born in ordinary circumstances and their work is to do what not expected by others, to ‘stir things up’. And your work goes on in spite of your best efforts to be more like the others of your generation. It is your destiny and purpose from the molecular to the spiritual level. This the ripples from the actions that you take turn into waves, and mildest words are taken into the hearts of others.”

“I’m sure nobody is paying me the least bit of mind,”

“Now you are being disingenuous, and that is not your style either.” He said, a little sternly, “ You have always known that this is true, and that is why the watches stop and the lights go out and the compass on your key ring has failed. You are always complaining of these things.”

“And you’re saying there are 499 other people like me?”

He waved his hand, “No, no, it’s just a metaphorical number.”

“You mean like ’40 days and 40 nights’ instead of just saying ‘a really long time’?”

“Exactly. Really, how many people do you think would offer me a glass of water if they found me in their home?”

“I think almost anybody would.”

“Yes, you do. That is exactly what you think.” He paused to let that “sink in”. “How many people do you think would take my hand, just for a minute, if I asked them to? If I asked as one sentient being to another? But you would, wouldn’t you?”

“I’d hold anyone’s hand, for a minute, if they asked me to” I said.

And then he extended his across the coffee table. Well. I’d just given my word, hadn’t I?

So I stood up and crossed the floor and took his hand. And then I was very cold, and I could smell cold, damp earth. It wasn’t unpleasant, or rotten, or foul. But it was the grave, and there was no mistaking it for anything else.

“Ah” he said, and released his grip, “Thank you. That was most heartening to me. But I had better go. It’s 4:00 am on the East Coast of North America and there are many suffering people who seek relief in these hours.”

“I’m sure you’re a very busy –er – person.” I said.

“I do wish your little bird had been with you. I’d have liked to have seen what she looks like.”

“Oh, she sleeps in a separate cage in the bedroom. I’m sure you could look in on her.”

“No, no I mustn’t. If she were just at rest here and I could pass by without disturbing her, that would be one thing. But I wouldn’t dare to lift the cage cover. They startle so easily, they have such little hearts, those parrots.”

He got to his feet and began to walk toward the kitchen door.

“Okay. Then. I’ll, um, see you later.”

He turned and gave me a courtly bow. “Farewell, Madam”

“Oh, my name is-“

“NO!” he said. He didn’t say it loudly, but he spoke with great force and the china in the cupboard sort of vibrated. He held up his hand, “For me to learn your name is for me to call it. And that would be most untimely.”

“Okay. Thanks for the warning. Good-bye.”

But I was talking to thin air, and at that minute I woke up. I guess I’d had a fever that had broken, because my nightgown was soaked with sweat and my heart was racing. I pulled myself up in bed and turned the light on. I forced myself to stay in bed and not disturb the bird, making sure she was still alive. (after a few minutes of the light being on, I heard her give a questioning “peep?”) It was 40 minutes before I even dared to turn the light off again.

No wonder I have insomnia.